Chapter 20
Twenty
Blair
I stand in front of the door and I hate that I feel like a visitor.
I’ve always shown up with Tyson and he obviously would just walk us into his childhood home.
That isn’t the case today—it’s just me and a strong recommendation from Ty’s older brother that I obviously still make the trip.
He convinced me yesterday and I even called this morning to double check that this was still a good idea.
According to Teague, Tyson was being dramatic and doesn’t know how to communicate when he needs a teeny tiny break.
Well, fuck. Tyson and I seem to be more like each other than I thought.
When the question hit me that maybe I should stay home, not join the Bishops for their Thanksgiving tradition—it was awful.
It was this overwhelming wave of sadness of not playing games late at night the Wednesday before the big day, or not curling up with a warm cup of coffee in the morning, or missing out on making pie with Tyson’s mom, Sara.
He’s always been a consistent part of my life, even when we were a whole world apart. I refuse to accept that when the universe puts us almost in the same city, that this is where it doesn’t work.
Well, maybe it doesn’t work the way I thought it would.
This is what I’ve been mulling over the whole flight.
I used to daydream and wonder what it’d be like to date Tyson.
Be that person. But when I thought about it, it was almost in the same way as “what if I won the lottery” or “if I could get up and move to any country, where would it be?” It never felt like an actual possibility.
Until now.
Things have shifted. We’ve both settled into life, as much as someone can, and it feels like the tides have turned.
And the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about? Our first kiss can’t be our last.
So, I created a plan—wrote it out on pen and paper—because if I didn’t, I was going to be panic snacking the whole way to Michigan. I gave myself something to do and thought if I wrote it out, it’d feel more doable.
Pulling out my phone, I click my messages and find Tyson’s name—he never responded, and according to Teague, his phone is off. So, here I am. Ready to put it all on the line. Or, that’s what I convinced myself on the plane.
Anxiety settles in my gut as I ring the doorbell and it’s only a second before it swings open, the smell of cinnamon and something sweet hitting me, and Tyson’s mom beaming at me.
“Sweet girl, you made it!” she says, smiling in a way that warms me, no matter how cold it is outside.
It’s been snowing for a day or two, based on the snow piles from the plowed driveway.
Sara kisses my cheek and wraps me in a tight hug, smelling like cinnamon.
She always had a way of making me feel like I was one of the family.
“It’s so good to see you,” I greet her as she continues to hug me.
“Get in here. It’s freezing!” She gestures for me to follow her inside. “I hope you know that your jersey is at the top of my Christmas list.” Turning over her shoulder, she offers me a wink and I know she’s serious.
“I want one too,” Teague chimes in, wrapping me up in a hug as soon as I drop my bags in the living room. He shakes me back and forth, and says, “Or tickets, whichever.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I look around, trying to see if Tyson is here. I’m guessing not, considering he would’ve said something by now.
“He’s at the cabin. Walked over there an hour or so ago,” Teague says, like he’s reading my mind.
Nodding, I ask, “Does he know I’m still coming?”
Teague shrugs. “I think if you didn’t come, he’d be in a full on spiral. He’s struggling a bit.”
“Let me get you a coffee. We got some fancy beans from that coffee shop in town. And then Teague will drive you out there.”
“Are you sure he wants to see me?” My voice is quiet and I dip my chin into my chest.
“Yes,” they both answer in unison.
I rub my hand over my face, letting the stress of having to execute the plan I put on paper, for real.
I have a feeling that they know more than they are letting on but I absolutely don’t want to talk about it with them. I’m thankful they’re actually leaving it at “yes” and nothing more.
Sitting at one of the barstools, I watch as Sara makes my coffee.
She puts the coffee beans in front of me to smell and my mouth is watering.
It’s clear where Tyson gets his thoughtfulness from.
This is the kind of family where you mention you like something once and they find a way to have it for you whenever they can.
“Here you go.” Sara hands me a tumbler of hot coffee, “Teague will take you.”
The windows showcase the snow falling steadily, and it’s gorgeous. “Actually, I’ll take a walk.”
It’s only the sound of my steps on the snow as I make my way to the cabin.
It feels like a winter wonderland, an almost completely different world even from their home.
I sip coffee, notes of nuts and vanilla hitting my tongue, and soak in the peaceful surroundings—a perfect comparison to the rock that’s in my stomach.
It’s clear that Tyson plowed the trail they take from the house, another nod to his thoughtfulness.
When I see the cabin in the distance, smoke billowing from the chimney, I stop.
Truly, it’s like a post card or the way you’d dream of a place like this to be.
It’s an honest to God log cabin, built by hand when Tyson’s dad was a kid.
When I’m close enough, I can see Tyson sitting inside, the curtains drawn on the expansive front windows.
My feet try to be quiet in the snow boots, not wanting to let him know I’m here yet.
Needing a moment, I take a deep breath when I’m in front of the door.
My fisted hand hovers before softly knocking.
My lungs are tight, anxiety paired with the icy air, and my heart sprints from one beat to the next.
Here we go.
I softly knock on the door. A few seconds stretch between the knock, my gloved hand paused, like it’s frozen. Excitement and nervousness pull on me, an internal tug of war.
The door swings open and there’s Tyson. He’s wearing a long-sleeved Henley, forest green, underneath a flannel button-up. His other hand pulls at his chin, his fingers touching the short beard. The fire crackles from inside, the only sound between us.
“You’re here.” His voice is layered with confusion and it almost sounds like a question.
“Of course I am.”
We stand in the doorway, the cozy air warmed by the fireplace wrestling with the chilled outside. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you weren’t at practice, and I called Teague and he—”
“You called my brother?” The blue of his eyes is intense enough it feels like gravity, pulling me closer… yet there’s a flicker of uncertainty underneath, a tiny tremor that says he’s not nearly as sure of himself as he pretends.
My shoulders drop from my ears and I tilt my head, taking him in, “Yes. I didn’t tell him much of anything except that you left for home early.
First, I had to make sure you were okay.
” At this realization, I lightly press a hand to his chest. My fingers can feel his sculpted chest, the rise and fall of his breathing.
He grabs my wrist and keeps it there.
“I was worried something happened. To you or back at home. I sent you messages, called, but you didn’t respond. I had to call your brother.”
“I didn’t even think about that.” His face falls, but he still holds my hand to his chest, the other hand still on the door. “Fuck. Sorry.” He looks at the small amount of ground between the two of us, almost like it’s an actual threshold to cross. “You were worried about me?”
Anger rains and puts out some of the nervous energy filling my body. He doesn’t think I’d notice if he wasn’t there? If he left me behind? “Of course I was. How can you even ask that?”
“I’m just—”
“No, don’t just me. You know me better than that, or at least I thought you did. You know me, the real me, down to my marrow. How can you stand there and say that to me? Wonder if that’s true?” My voice is louder than I hoped but anger is winning, as it should be.
How did we get here?
His shoulders hunch, the broad lines I know so well folding inward, making him look smaller somehow. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, then closes just as fast, jaw shifting like he’s wrestling every word. He’s a mess of ‘almosts’ and ‘I’m sorrys’ he can’t seem to get out.
“My heads a fucking mess. I’m a mess. I shouldn’t have left like that, without saying anything, but I needed to be home. I needed something the way I remembered it, consistent.”
Consistent. The way he remembered it. It feels like my heart drops into my winter boots because I hear it. It clicks. He regrets kissing me.
I take a step back and move the hand that was on his warm chest to my hip, shifting my weight. “You know what? You were the one who kissed me. If you didn’t want to, or want to take it back, just say it. Tell me. So we can salvage what’s left!”
He meets me outside, our chests almost flush, “You think I want to take it back? That’s the last thing I want.” He raises his voice and it pebbles my skin with want.
Deep down, I know there’s still more to figure out. But, in the moment, I push it all aside, letting a slow smirk pull my lips up, and challenge him instead.
“Then prove it.” The words are smooth like velvet but with razor sharp consequences.
His mouth is on mine before I can even second-guess the words.
I smile into it, relieved, because if he did want to take it back I think it would’ve broken me.
Instead his lips are full, demanding, and pressing into me.
His tongue sweeps along my lower lip before lightly nipping it, which pulls a whimper from me.
Tyson matches it with a moan that seems to come from the deepest part of him, and I can’t get close enough to him.
And like he can read my mind, he bends his knees, arms around my back, and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist, my winter coat awkwardly bunching up around my waist.
He turns and pushes us inside, closing the door, and sets me down. Quickly, he locks the front door and why is that so ridiculously hot? Grabbing my coffee tumbler, he sets it on a table by the doorway and turns back to me.
“Happy to prove it to you.” His hand grabs at my coat zipper, slowly pulling it down while wearing a mischievous grin that could bring me to my knees. Fuck. I almost do it. But then he takes my coat off, tossing it on the sofa.
The fire crackles and pops when he kneels down, unlacing my boots. He’s so close to me, to the place I dreamt of him kissing. When he looks up at me, wearing the same grin, I roll my eyes and let my head fall back, a breath escaping my mouth.
He takes his time, and it’s a different type of torture. He finishes one boot and his hands move up my legs, starting at my calves and stopping at my ass, before raking back down to work on the other boot.
My hand pushes into his hair and I’m making a mental note to keep this image, him on knees like this, looking at me like that. Fuck, it’s so hot. I’m turned on by a single kiss and this man taking off my boots. Can’t say that’s ever happened before.
When the boots are off, Ty looks up at me, “How do you want me to prove it to you?”
I can barely get the words out without begging him. “However you want.”
“We might be here a while,” he says, voice breathy and heavy as he slowly stands, his hands crawling up my body.
Fuck.